Right Place, Right Time, Wrong Timeline
by Qwizbo
Summary: Everyone at Camp Green Lake knew Glen Schindler was different. But no one would have guessed his time machine actually worked. Rated T just to be safe.
1. The Problem With Time Travel

**_Note: When reading this story, completely ignore _Small Steps_. I haven't read it, so if something in my story disagrees with something in _Small Steps_, don't rush to complain._**

* * *

Back when my life was normal… actually, it would probably be correct to say my life has never been normal. I've always been a little different. I'm a geek. You can see it in my face. It's a stereotypical geek image – you know, the glasses, nicely combed hair, white shirt, tie, et cetera. Well, I'm only dressed up nice because my parents demand it of me. And the only reason I wear glasses is because I got hit by a foul ball at a Rangers game a while back and it pretty much shattered my left eye. Edward Fitzgibbons, the plastic surgeon from LA, offered me a free facelift to help the cause against stereotypes. I thought long and hard about that one, but when I finally decided to go ahead with it, Fitzgibbons was in court. Before I knew it he was on death row. But he's since escaped, so there's still some hope.

Anyway, the really big reason why I was abnormal was my time travel aspirations. Well, okay, everyone wants to travel through time, if only to hide from the teacher who makes life hard. But I had the scientific knowhow, the mechanical knowhow, and an A in history. And I always knew I could do it. My sole problem was that building a time machine is exactly as hard as it sounds.

The science terms sound Martian, so I'll try and keep it simple. Basically, you need assorted everything twisted together in a weird style that causes something called "khiloash". The name (which I made up) comes from a Native American language with no remaining speakers and translates roughly to "confusion". Did I mention I'm a geek?

The glacier carved up my life on the sixth of February. Everyone in Hershey Farms Rapids – maybe even everyone in Texas– was intently focused on Valentine's Day, so things were a little crazy. Alyssa Chamberlain was throwing all that was in her at Justin Bozeman. Nicolas Lindberg had a dozen girls clinging onto him because they all bet on the horse he owned to win the big race – I never figured that one out. As for me, I had to decide between Darlene Vanderyajt and Annabel Kristiansen. Some choice.

I was more focused on the time machine anyway, so at lunch I invited the two girls down to Old Man Stratford's old barn, where I'd been testing my khiloash. The girls agreed, although in retrospect I realize they both wrapped up the day with Mr. Lafontaine, and needed an excuse to avoid being held after school, which was what usually happened to anyone who breathed in the presence of the science teacher who should have been a drill sergeant.

So that afternoon inside Old Man Stratford's abandoned barn to work on my khiloash with the girls. Annabel showed first, wearing a plain white T-shirt and some jeans. She looked ready to work, so I tried to explain how the thing worked. She took it in stride, but something told me she had better things to do, like move up on the Hershey Farms Rapids Memorial High School food chain. I couldn't blame her.

As we tested new possibilities of things to tweak in order to break the time barrier, I couldn't help but notice an absence. Where was Darlene? She was supposed to be at the barn. My mind darted about, dreaming up horrific possibilities about what might have happened to her…

Annabel interrupted: "What if we only put one wire in the tube instead of two?"

I sensibly explained to her that it was doomed to fail, but she wouldn't listen. She yanked one of the wired out, cast it aside, made the proper movements to activate the khiloash, and stood back.

Something sparked. That was a good sign. Then the device in front of us began to emit something purple, with a scent like rotten eggs. I knew exactly what to do in this situation: get out of the barn as quickly as possible.

"Annabel, run!" I called, already halfway toward a hole someone blew in the wall – I think it was me. As I leaped out of the doomed structure, I looked back and saw a horrible sight: Annabel lying on the ground, holding her right leg in pain. I thought of trying to help her, but I knew there was no time.

An explosion came from the time machine, felling the old rickety barn. There were pieces of wood everywhere. My parents found out about it pretty much instantaneously, because the next thing I knew, I was being dragged home.

Four days later, on February tenth, I heard that Annabel Kristiansen had been killed in the explosion. On February eleventh, I heard that Darlene Vanderyajt had also been killed in the explosion. I had hoped she was just late, and I figure that was true. But then it wasn't possible.

I knew I was probably going to jail, so you can imagine my relief when the judge said there was another option. He said something about Camp Green Lake, though I forget the exact details. It took about two seconds to make up my mind: anything was better than jail. Let that other kid, Yell-gnats, go to jail. Glen Schindler has other plans.

After packing the essentials, Mom told me that the judge told her I was allowed to bring along one other thing. I immediately ran down to the remnants of Old Man Stratford's barn. My – well, okay, Annabel's – failed attempt at a time machine was still lying there, so I picked it up and lugged it home to pack.

I'm not even sure why I brought it along. It was in horrible condition. I knew it was useless, and it had caused me nothing but problems. But I took it to Camp Green Lake anyway, probably on the hunch that it would come in handy.

In retrospect, I guess it did.


	2. The Wonders of Khiloash

I found my spot in D-Tent. The kids there were kind of weird. They all had normal people names – except for that freak Zero – but they all went by unorthodox, mostly silly nicknames. X-Ray. Armpit. Squid. At that point I knew I was going to get one sooner or later. I was slightly worried.

It didn't take long. In fact, it only took until I decided to show off.

"What's _that?_" remarked Magnet.

"It's a time machine." A chorus of _what_s and _haha_s and even a _yeah, and I'm George Washington_ ensued.

"No, really," I explained. "It works on a system of… nonsensical-sounding science terms that I call khiloash. It's true."

"Oh, Glen." said Zigzag. "I _so_ wanna meet my future self. Am I the president? Oh, maybe I'm a soap star! Can I find out?"

"Actually," I added, "it doesn't work. It's supposed to. But it doesn't."

"Aw, man," murmured a disgruntled Zigzag.

"What a jokester!" praised Squid.

X-Ray patted me on the shoulder. "Nice one, Marty."

Marty. Hey, that fits. Even though I loathed the name, I saw the reasoning. It was easy to remember, a stark contrast to the rest of the group, and a dumb reference to a popular 80's movie, all at once. It worked.

* * *

_Digging holes stinks._

That's what I was thinking throughout the first four feet.

_Oh my goodness._

That's what I thought immediately afterward.

I had found something. At first, I was more confused than anything. Then I noticed what it was.

It was a small metal case, about six inches by two inches by two inches. There was a lock, but it was busted, so I opened the case and found a piece of paper, wrapped in a cylinder and knotted, kind of like a certificate. I untied the knot and read the note inscribed on the paper:

_Marty,_

_I'm in the Old West. I'm dying. This is for you, okay? I want you to hit the time machine with a shovel. Trust me on this. This is going to work. Oh, and one other thing – don't trust anyone. I know more now than I did then. Keep this note with you. It'll help._

_Zero_

I pulled my face back. "WHOA!" I shrieked, probably a little too loudly.

In a split second the rest of the boys were surrounding me, and the note was being passed around. Five of the six gasped, were completely silent, or showed some other sign of shock. Zero, however, seemed puzzled, as though he didn't understand it. Eventually the note came back to me.

"Do you know what this means?" I shouted. "It means my time machine WORKS!"

* * *

I took a look at the time machine. It was still in the same shape as when I had last stared at it: blown up. It didn't appear serviceable, or even repairable.

"The note said hit it with a shovel," reminded X-Ray

"Okay… where's there a shovel around here?"

"Try 6168."

"No need to be sarcastic, X-Ray."

I spotted a shovel. It looked like any other shovel, but I didn't let that get in my way. First I made sure Zero's note was in my pocket. Then I grabbed the shovel, swung it about like a baseball player getting ready to bat, flung it over my shoulder like a lumberjack getting ready to chop, and came down and chopped.

A familiar spark occurred. So far, so good. Then a familiar violet shroud covered the machine, accompanied by a familiar rotten egg scent.

"She's gonna BLOW!" screamed Magnet, and I knew that was probably true.

But it wasn't true. She didn't blow. Instead all seven of us – X-Ray, Zigzag, Zero, Squid, Armpit, Magnet, and me, Marty – were sucked into a strange dimension the same purple as the stuff that had been coming out of the machine.

"W-w-where are we?" questioned Squid.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never been here before. It didn't work, remember?"

And then it was over. The seven of us were de-catapulted into a place that looked a lot like Camp Green Lake. Except there was an actual lake. And a town. And rain.

X-Ray spoke for everyone: "I think it worked."

I walked up to a young man. "Excuse me for asking, Sir, but where am I?"

He looked at me funny. "Young man, this is Green Lake, Texas, just as it's always been."

I nodded. "And what year is it?"

"What year is it?" He looked at me even funnier. "Young man, I think you're crazy. You should go see a doctor."

X-Ray smiled and said, "Yep. It worked."

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**So that's chapter two. I'd really like some reviews for this (and my other stories too). I'm unsure if I'll continue this, because no one has said anything about liking/disliking it. Then again, it's one of my favorites, so I'll probably write more. But I do want to know what others think of it, please. Yes. This means you.**


	3. Time and Time Against

**Heh, sorry for the immensely long wait between chapters. Reality stinks.**

To say that my first day in the nineteenth century was somewhat awkward would be to render myself guilty of major understatement. For starters, it wasn't until about ten minutes into my time travel experience that I was able to think clearly enough to be able to identify that it was, in fact, the Old West.

Second, through all the historical facts I'd studied, Green Lake was scarcely mentioned, and those rare mention told next to nothing about it. It was cited as the name of both a fried-up lake and a similarly fried-up town, and that the town had been the home of Kissin' Kate Barlow before she became an outlaw. And I didn't even learn much about the place by reading about Kissin' Kate Barlow – only that, well, it was a standard Texan town. According to history, it may as well have never existed.

Third, the rest of the D-Tenters had no clue how to behave in this century. I recognized this situation from several time travel stories: the conscientious guy and the guy with no knowledge of the era (I hesitate to say "idiot") – or in my case, a whole slew of them.

But most importantly…

"Marty," Zigzag asked, "don't you think we should change our clothes? I mean, we're dressed like Oompa-Loompas or something."

"It won't be too bad," I reassured him.

"Yes, it will."

"No, it won't."

Yeah, we stuck out like sore thumbs. But to be honest, I really didn't care. Khiloash wasn't just a theory – it was the secret to time travel!

I guess having built this thing and made it work was reason enough for celebration. We partied and partied – and then I noticed something was amiss.

"Hey, where's Zero?"

* * *

Wandering around helplessly in the Old West in orange jumpsuits, looking for another person in an orange jumpsuit – what's wrong with this picture?

We saw what was wrong with that picture and chose not to wander around helplessly. Zigzag was right – we looked like Oompa-Loompas, which would be a bit of a shock to a typical nineteenth century Texan.

We came up to the first friendly-looking person we saw, and she introduced herself as Katherine Barlow. Just my luck. I think I was right to be nervous in the vicinity of such a notorious outlaw.

"So, Katherine," I said, being as careful as any sane person would be around this girl, "I'm Xylo." It made much more sense to use a crazy name the way the others did than to call myself Glen – or even Marty. Using a name that was an actual _name_ would make me look like an outcast. I wanted to look equal.

Katherine looked at me kind of funny. Then she turned to Armpit and told him, "Why don't you come inside the schoolhouse? It's not in the best shape, but – "

"No!" I shouted, perhaps a little too loud. "Don't hurt him. Don't do anything bad to him. And please, don't _kiss_ him!"

Katherine Barlow – I was still a bit nervous being around this lady – laughed. "Please, Xylo. You're panicking over absolutely nothing!" I remembered from the internet somewhere that she'd been a perfectly nice person before going completely berserk, so that calmed me down a bit. Come inside, all of you. Want some peaches?"

"No thanks," I said, and walked away.

"Well, goodbye! Oh, and one more thing – what kind of a name is Xylo?"

I ignored her. As we were walking, Magnet said, "You know, I kind of like the name Xylo better than Marty."

They got into a shouting match, and X-Ray and I stepped back. It turned out that Magnet and Zigzag preferred Xylo, and Squid and Armpit preferred Marty.

X-Ray ended the argument shortly after it delved into insanity by shouting, "Marty, Xylo, Tyrannosaurus. _Does it even make a difference?_"

The four shut up. The unlikely band of time trekkers reunited, marched around a corner – and stopped.

I stared in shock at what I saw: Zero, lying dazed on the ground; an African-American man down and out a foot away from him, having apparently bonked his head on something; a creature that was either a horse or a donkey – I'll admit, I can't tell the difference – who hardly seemed to know or care about the situation; and the earth littered with enough onions to fill a Camp Green Lake-size hole a quarter of the way full.

We just stood there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Finally, X-Ray broke the silence: "Uh, Marty? Is killing people a good thing or a bad thing?"

I couldn't contain a chuckle. "Bad. Usually."


End file.
